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Poem	Naturally it is night. Under the overturned lute with its One string I am going my way Which has a strange sound. This way the dust that way the dust. I listen to both sides But I keep right on. I remember the leaves sitting in judgment And then winter. I remember the rain with its bundles of roads. The rain taking all its roads. Nowhere. Young as I am old as I am I forget tomorrow the blind man. I forget the life among the buried windows. The eyes in the curtains. The wall Growing through the immortelles. I forget silence The owner of the smile. This must be what I wanted to be doing Walking at night between the two deserts Singing.
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